


Tabula Rasa

by Khamet



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Bigs, Blank Slate, Boyd is such a softie, Dr Saunders is kinda mom material, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Littles, Memory Loss, Minor Electrical Crisis, Non-Sexual Age Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:53:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23627224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khamet/pseuds/Khamet
Summary: (TEMP HIATUS 11/12/2020)Innocent. Impressionable.Nothing more than expensive children to be abused by the wealthy and refurbished by the Dollhouse. Looking into those guileless eyes, you would find yourself believing the Dolls were honest to goodness children, complete with an ability to flourish under attention and wither when exposed to cruelty.Langton is of the opinion that all Dolls should be treated with love first, reprimanded second. Join Echo's handler as he attempts to provide love and security for his active during a time of crisis.(Fic takes place before S01 E08)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot include that the time frame for this work is in 2019/2020. The technology from the late 2000s was so awful I had to scrap it. I mean, does anyone remember seeing Agent Ballard's flip phone?

On the gloomiest afternoon in all of April, a miracle happened at the house on Redwood Lane. Not a miracle which warranted global attention or even a column in the local newspaper, but one that meant everything for the elderly gentleman who lived in the derelict house. From his seat at the kitchen table he could look out over the front yard and see the road. Rain fell as if it were time for a flood of Biblical proportions, though it did little to dampen his good mood. He wrung his hands in anticipation for his miracle to appear. 

It wouldn't be long now. 

***

The house on Redwood Lane did not have much to offer in the way of beauty. Time had not been kind in the way it marched onward, never once looking back to acknowledge the damage. The exterior paint peeled way to showcase the rotting wood underneath, leaving behind flakes which littered the ground. Bits of broken wood and rusty nails made up what was left of the front porch and stairs leading to the house. Cracked terra-cotta pots lay where they had fallen on the front lawn, their jagged pieces serving as a graveyard for flowers who lived for a fleeting moment before falling prey to the all-consuming weeds. There was no one to pick up the pieces, just as there was no one to fuss over the mess. 

Today the gentleman on Redwood Lane, Lennard Finch, wished he had the presence of mind to do a bit of Spring cleaning. Had he made the appropriate preparations, there would be no weeds or broken pots, no dust clinging to the furniture like fresh snow— hell, the smell of baking bread would fill the empty rooms of the house like it had all those years ago. Oh, if only he had taken more time to do things right. 

He sagged against the table as he continued to stare out the window. It was too late now, the best he could do was wait. 

He was rewarded for his patience with the arrival of a car creeping through the rain. 

A sleek black van pulled into his driveway and out stepped a serious man with a black umbrella. He was tall and exceedingly polite, as demonstrated in the way he turned to help the other passenger. Perhaps chivalry wasn't dead after all. The man with the umbrella tolerated the hug given to him by the young woman who bounced out of the car and onto the dirt path. Slinging a duffel bag across her back, she ignored his cry for caution and made a frantic dash to the front door. She slipped once or twice, but her enthusiasm was never in question as she arrived on the porch grinning. She waved to the van before knocking on the screen door. 

"Grandpa? Grandpa! It's me, it's Rebecca! I'm home!" 

Lennard Finch shook the age from his bones and the cobwebs from his memory. Opening the door, he came face to face with the memory of his dearly departed granddaughter. He made eye contact with the unsmiling gentleman with the umbrella. There were few words which could describe the look which passed between them. It was a brief acknowledgement that this miracle would not last forever; for the time that it lasted, that would have to be enough.

The look passed as quickly as it came. The black van drove away and the rain continued to pour. For the two figures standing on the wet porch, the year was no longer 2020, but instead 1994. Lennard was a new man with youth on his side and Rebecca— his darling Rebecca— was no longer dead.

Throwing his arms wide, Lennard Finch stepped forward to embrace his miracle. 

* * *

Boyd Langton stared at the cup of coffee in his hand and grimaced. It was too strong for his taste— he was more of a latte guy, really. He didn't fancy returning to the Dollhouse with a 'girly' drink for the other handlers to harass him about, hence the bitter black coffee. Last week the handlers got on to him about being a helicopter parent around Echo and the week before that they gave him grief for carrying one of Echo's paintings in his wallet. In his defense the picture was really nice and she'd given it to him because he was having a bad day. Langton wasn't so cruel as to refuse a gift, so he tucked it into his wallet where he unfolded it when he was having a bad day. Much like this one, actually. 

Langton thought about the picture as he resumed his conversation with Topher. "All I'm saying is that it's weird. You can't resurrect the dead on memory alone. Building a personality profile on top of another, less stable one, is risky and I don't think it's normal." 

"Echo goes on these assignments all the time. Since when did it bother you?" Topher paused his game to give Langton a sideways look. From his upside down position on the futon, the programmer liked to imagine Langton's frown was a smile. If you squinted your eyes just right and turned your head a certain way… there! Close enough to a smile. 

"Stop looking at me like that. I'd like to know why Echo was pulled for this assignment and not Tango or November. Echo's had back to back engagements for the past 3 weeks, which means _I've_ had back to back work for 3 weeks." The handler crossed his arms. "It'd be nice to have a break every once and a while. Plus this assignment is by far my least favorite. I mean, a dead girl, really?" 

"Listen man, a paying customer is a paying customer. Money talks, even when the dead can't." Topher resumed his game. "If I were to make an assumption about this guy— which my contract says I legally can't— I would guess that Mr. Finch is looking for closure. Dude's whole family died in a fire in 1994. He's probably lonely out there on the farm."

"Surely there's other family members he could live with. Any next of kin?"

"None that we're aware of. His son, daughter-in-law, and grandkids all died on that property. Faulty wiring and all that. Scary when you remember the 90s wasn't that long ago."

"No wife or husband?" 

"Wife died in the late 80s and missed out on Britney Spears' career. That's the real tragedy." 

Langton stomached the callous remark in the same way you stomached undercooked meat: you didn't. Instead he took his coffee to the observation window where he surveyed Dolls and handlers wandering on the deck below. He felt both appreciative and weary of his rank of Handler within the organization. Few had the opportunity or wherewithal to last as long as he, though he didn't make it a point to gloat over his personal successes. No, the ex-cop kept a low profile and brought his grievances to the appropriate authority when necessary. Though he didn't like Echo's current assignment playing the role of dead-girl-who-thinks-she's-visiting-grandpa, he found his moral questionings could only be resolved by himself.

He respected the sacrifices each Doll made in order to have various conflicts settled in exchange for 5 years of their life, though he wouldn't go as far as to say he 'liked' their line of work. Most of the clients were rich people who wanted to find love, and find it fast. In an age where dating apps were rampant, he wondered if the Dollhouse was providing wealthy people with transient life coaches who could teach social skills to the totally inept. Rarely were the engagements more than self-indulgent for the buyer.

In the case of Lennard Finch, this was a man who had lost his immediate family in a fire nearly 30 years ago. A cursory look over the client profile showed that his granddaughter, Rebecca, died a year after the fire from an autoimmune disorder. She avoided an untimely demise due to an overnight stay at the pediatric hospital with her grandfather. She was 6. Fast-forwarding a couple decades, Lennard had recently come into some money from a settlement with the electrical company who was responsible for the fire. The Rossum employees responsible for vetting the old man ran his bank statements and within hours of receiving the money, Lennard had placed a call with the Dollhouse for a final chance to say goodbye to his granddaughter. With cancer riddling his bones, it was likely that he was not long for this world. 

Langton understood the old man's human desire to find closure, but he couldn't understand why it had to be Echo. Dr. Saunders was of the same opinion; against medical advice, she signed the necessary documents clearing Echo for active duty. She made her displeasure known by throwing a clipboard at Langton when he'd brought the paperwork to her office.

"Man friend, you worry too much." Topher offered unhelpfully. "Echo'll be fine. I built her to the exact specifications of the client and added a bit of my special magic to make things run more smoothly. Don't get me started on how hard it was to make her profile. If Echo so much as sticks a fork in the toaster, she'll fry my imprint." 

"I'm fully aware, Topher. Remind me again what this looks like from her point of view?" 

"I would, but I'm busy raiding tombs and kicking ass. Take Echo's file for all I care, just stop asking so many questions."

Langton knew when he'd overstayed his welcome. With 46 hours left for this engagement, he figured there was time to become more acquainted with the contents of the new assignment. God, he couldn't wait til this was all over. The only company he wanted for the next four days were his bed and television… maybe even a pizza, courtesy of the Dollhouse. It was the least the company owed him.

Pouring the untouched coffee down the sink, Langton shoved the file under his arm and went in search of a proper breakfast. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Dollhouse is a series very dear to my heart and I wanted to write a short work of fiction in this quarantine period. 
> 
> For those of you joining me from The Good Place fic, I'm sorry this isn't the 3rd chapter. I found myself overthinking it, so instead I wrote something to help me get over the writer's block. Thanks for your patience!


	2. Chapter 2

Forty-six hours came and went without much fanfare. Langton was more than eager to retrieve Echo and start his long weekend, so eager in fact he came to the doorstep to speedup her lengthy goodbye. He felt ridiculous in the university sweater and jeans, but part of the fantasy was that Rebecca Finch was attending the University of Sacramento and was returning to finish up her degree in Mathematics. In this fabricated reality, spring break was coming to a close and she and Langton were carpooling back to the dormitory. 

"Rebecca, we'll be late for curfew if we don't leave now." Langton held her duffel bag under one arm and an umbrella in the other. The rain had yet to release the surrounding area from its grasp. Rainboots were a must, as were umbrellas and raincoats. Echo had neither, a wardrobe oversight on the Dollhouse's part. 

Rebecca hugged her grandfather once more. "I promise to visit you this summer. I'll try to bring Audra with me too, I know you'd love her!" According to the profile, Audra was Rebecca's shy roommate who hardly left their apartment. She was an exchange student from overseas who had taken a liking to her excitable roommate. 

"Oh, you don't have to do that. I'm old and I've lived my life. You and your friends enjoy the summer in the city, you can always visit me later." Lennard smiled as he took a step back. "Give me a call when you get back to school. Drive carefully." 

"We will, won't we?" Large brown eyes traveled upward to Langton's face. In them was a silent plea to stay, to give her a little extra time with a man she thought she knew and loved. A man who had nothing left in this world but his memories. 

"Of course," said the handler. "Sir." He shook Lennard's hand and began slogging back toward the car. Echo was quiet as she clung tightly to his arm, barely making an effort to avoid puddles or broken pots. It was as she was being buckled in that she spoke up: 

"Is it okay if I tell you something? I don't know why I feel like I can trust you, but I just know I can." 

Langton finished strapping himself in and gave the all-clear to the driver. "What are friends for, Rebecca?" 

She looked down at her muddy sneakers and scuffed jeans. "I think my grandpa is really sick. Like, dying sick. I'm scared." 

"It's okay to be scared. Like he said, he's lived a long life and I bet he loves you more than anything in this world." He offered her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "We can give him a call after you get your treatment. Does that sound okay?" 

The storm clouds on Echo's face seemed to clear up. "Yeah, I'd like that." 

Langton let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Despite his practice in the field, post engagement interactions were his greatest challenge. Continuing the fantasy was the worst part about this job, especially when emotions were involved. He had no doubt Rebecca Finch missed her grandfather and that she was concerned for his heath, however Rebecca Finch was dead and her feelings of sadness and dissatisfaction were misplaced. There was no use explaining to a doll how their emotions were inconsequential; the best you could do was hope they were satisfied with whatever half-assed answer you cooked up. 

Rather than spend the hour car ride sorting out real and unreal emotions with Echo, Langton changed the topic to a lighter subject. "So, tell me about your weekend."

* * *

Topher stared intently at the bank of computers before him. Something wasn't right. 

"Something isn't right." He said. Behind him, Adelle and Dominic growled together in irritation. At Topher's request, both the director and the chief of security had come down to his computer lab to see what exactly was so urgent that it couldn't wait to be handled the following day. Hearing the less than technical jargon that, 'something isn't right', was hardly an emergency. 

"Topher," DeWitt began. "If you are being paid to tell me what is wrong with my Dollhouse, then it may be time I start garnishing your wages. What seems to be the problem?" 

"The problem? The PROBLEM? Don't you see it?" Topher stepped aside for his audience to behold the computers lining the wall. To an unpracticed eye it appeared as though the lights on a few boxes had blown. "The problem is that half of my computers are offline! They're completely dead!"

"Well, put them _online_. I fail to see how this is a problem. Are we done with this… minor inconvenience, Mr. Brink?" 

"Yeah, if you can tell me how exactly to turn 19 computers back online after they've given me the blue screen of death! Let me put this in perspective for you," Topher threw himself into the chair and acted out the process of wiping an Active's imprint. "'Hello Topher-who's-a-doll, how do you feel?' 'Did I fall asleep?' 'For a little while.' 'Can I go now?' 'If you—" 

"Thank you for the whole Oscar-worthy performance. I'll be sure to include it in your yearly evaluation. If there's no further discussion, I'll be in my office. Don't bother to interrupt me unless it's important." 

Topher leapt out of the chair and barred the way out of his lab. "You didn't let me get to the best part. After we wipe the doll's memory, they're supposed to go back to their blank form. However, if I don't have all my computers up and running to complete the wipe, who knows what parts are still left in their tiny little brains! They could bump into another Doll and suddenly go all Bruce Lee on them, or turn into Edward Scissorhands if they don't like the pancakes that day." 

"If I'm to understand you correctly, you're saying a Doll could flip personalities at will. That wouldn't occur if they've been wiped."

"This sounds like Alpha's doing. I'm pulling all Actives from the field." Dominic pushed past Topher and began barking orders into his walkie-talkie. He disappeared into the crowd below. 

Adelle DeWitt turned her cold gaze on her chief programmer. "Well? Is it Alpha?" 

"If Alpha had the power to control the weather, then maybe. I'm thinking the unfinished wipes have something to do with the power outages in the city. I know we run on a separate grid, but it's not a grid made by the gods. Humans built it and it's still gonna have errors." 

"How is it that our backup generators haven't taken care of this?"

"That's what I was trying to tell you! We weren't meant to run 50 computers as well as a whole facility on just a few generators. The computers take up a significant amount of electricity; if it comes to the generators choosing between keeping us alive and wiping Actives, it'll choose life every time." 

"That's hardly comforting. My Tesla has more morality than a generator, I wouldn't leave my ethics up to a machine." DeWitt massaged the space between her forehead as if her life depended on it. "Alright. I suppose Mr. Dominic has made the right call to bring all the Dolls back. Are we able to wipe them?" 

"We can for now, but I think it's a good idea to keep them separate from the general population. At least until we know they're clean."

"I expect you to make the necessary arrangements. How long do you expect these power delays to last?" 

"At least until the storm blows over. Take a look at the radar." 

Topher's computer screen showed a colorful map of California surrounded by ominous weather swirls. According to the colorful splotches a particularly nasty storm was moving in. 

"My guess," said Topher pointing to an ugly cluster of reds and purples. "Is that it'll last at least another two days. I can keep track of the power fluctuations in the city, but I'm not confident that'll do anything. The best we can hope for is that the Actives return before we lose any more computers."

"Keep me updated. I'll go see where we can siphon off more power. I don't want the other Dolls getting anxious. Inform Dr. Saunders and the other staff to keep them occupied, under no circumstances does anyone leave." The glass door to Topher's loft closed and he was alone again. 

Rain and wind continued to fall on the empty streets of San Francisco. 


	3. Chapter 3

"Why is it so dark in here? I don't like it." Echo stumbled in the dimly lit parking garage and fell into Langton's back. He took her by the hand and led the rest of the way to the elevator. "I wanna go home." 

"We'll go right after your treatment, I promise." Langton swiped his badge against the wall scanner and they entered the elevator. For the past half hour he'd fed platitudes to his ward in hopes it'd sate her until the wipe, but nothing seemed to work. Question after question came and Langton wondered if Topher's imprint was beginning to unwind. Ushering Echo into the elevator, he hit the button for the basement. 

The trip from the surface to the bottom floor was never a long one— 20 seconds at most— but today it seemed to take much longer. Langton tried not to think about what the downed power lines and torrential rain meant for his time off. He hoped the storm would blow over in the time it took to drop off Echo and debrief with security. The corners of his mouth pulled down the longer he thought about the likelihood of being trapped underground during the monsoon. 

"Hey, there's no need to be sad. Are you worried about your family too?" 

"Not as much as I'm worried about… my dog. She's scared of storms. I'm sure everything will be okay." He added lamely. What he meant to say was 'weekend off', but that hardly seemed appropriate in this situation. He tapped the button for the basement again. Damn, couldn't this lift go any faster? "How are you holding up?"

In spite of the darkness and rain, Echo seemed to be in good shape, albeit a bit anxious. The handler took note of her proximity to his person and her response to reassurances, false or otherwise. When Echo spoke, her voice was quiet:

"For some reason I can't shake this bad feeling. I think it's got something to do with the storm or my grandpa—"

The elevator slowed and the doors opened to reveal Topher. He stood at the entrance eager to greet them. 

"Rebecca, how good to see you! How was your trip? Great. If you could just hop up into my chair, Ivy'll be right with you. Boyd, a word?" Topher and Langton stepped outside the reset chamber for privacy. Ivy, the apprentice programmer, took over small talk.

Langton gestured to the weather map on Topher's screen. "What's this?" 

"A uh, storm… an electricity storm or something along those— hey, hey that's not why I've asked you to step out for a sec. Well, kinda sorta. Oh boy, this doesn't make any sense does it?" 

"You haven't begun to explain anything… so no." 

"Right you are, man friend. Uh… how do I say this... There's a good chance the power is going to fluctuate over few days, already the Dollhouse is running on generators and we're not sure when the normal power will be restored. For now we can wipe our Dolls' imprints…" 

"Why do I sense a 'but'?" Langton waved his weekend goodbye. 

"…but we can't be sure it's clean. So we need you to hang out in isolation with Echo and the other Actives until we're sure they're not a threat to the rest of the Dolls. You'll be able to swap out with Lima's handler, but that's the best I can do. Think of it like a really fun sleepover." 

Langton sat on this information. Throw a slumber party with a bunch of children… or spend the next 96 hours alone… The decision was easy. "I'm going home." 

"What!?" Topher grabbed the larger man's waist in an attempt to slow him down. "No, don't go. It wasn't my choice. We need you and Dr. Saunders to keep an eye on them; it was Claire who chose you to stay anyways!" He scrambled to his feet. "Go yell at her if you're so upset about the assignment." 

"I think I will. Where is she?" 

"Pod Room C. Don't leave without…" Topher trailed off. "Echo. _Echo!"_ He almost slapped his forehead. Putting on his cheeriest smile, he threw open the chamber doors and got back to work. 

* * *

Echo awoke to a foreign sound in her ears. It was like the buzzing of a lot of bees or maybe… something else? She thought hard about what that something else might be... nothing came to mind. On another day that might have bothered her, today she was fine to let go of that worry. Maybe she wasn't meant to know.

"Hello Echo." A man with blond hair stepped into her field of vision. He wore a yellow sweater and slacks. Echo liked yellow. "How are you feeling?" 

How was she feeling? Echo did a mental count of her limbs, the number of toes and fingers, and ended with her name: Echo. All seemed to be in place, just like it should be. "Did I fall asleep?"

The man watched her with sad eyes. She wondered if her answer made him sad. "For a little while." Making him sad was the last thing she wanted to do. If she was her best, everyone would be happy. 

"Shall I go now?" 

"If you like. Oh, Echo," The man waited until she turned to face him once more. "Uh, Boyd here has someone he wants you to go see. Dr. Saunders, she's a really nice lady and she just to make sure you're doing okay." 

"You mean my best. I always try hard to be my best." 

"Yeah, your best or whatever. Boyd?" 

A shadow detached itself from along the far wall. This scared Echo and she backed up to the point where her calves were hitting the chair. Boyd was a tall man with an unsmiling face. She looked between the sad blond man and Boyd's serious expression. She reluctantly followed the latter. 

"Where are we going?" Echo stuck close to him as they descended the stairs and came to stand beside a closed door. He knocked without answering her question. "I like being my best. Everyone is happy when I'm my best." 

The door opened and a pretty lady dressed in a white coat let them inside. "Boyd, Echo. Here, have a seat," Echo did as she was told. The examination table felt cool against her skin. The sensation reminded her of… another doctor's visit? A vague memory played itself out behind Echo's eyelids. Perhaps one from her childhood? 

The pretty doctor asked a series of questions and asked her to lie still while she performed a physical exam. At the conclusion of the examination, Echo was sent into the hall to wait for Boyd. "Take one of these with you." The doctor gave her a lollipop. 

Echo remembered how much she liked candy as she stood outside the office. It was while she was enjoying the unexpected treat that she was spotted by an angry man with a squawking black box. He took one look at her and his face twisted into a thunderous scowl. The other people in the atrium paid him no mind as he advanced on her. 

"I'm real sick of you, Caroline. If you ask me, I don't think you Dolls are as dumb as you look. I knew you were somehow involved in this. You're nothing more than a dog who's been given too much slack—" 

Echo cried out in pain as he dug his fingers into her arm. Who was Caroline? Why did he think she was someone she wasn't? Echo was powerless to resist as he began to drag her down the hallway, her pleas to stop lost amid the furious chatter on the box. A second later Boyd came crashing out of the doctor's office. His face looked very unhappy. 

"Let her go." He stood a few inches taller than the mean man. The doctor came out to join them. Echo wanted to be near them, to get away from this terrible man. She began to cry in earnest. 

The doctor stepped in front of Boyd with a placating gesture. "Laurence. This is too far, can't you see that she's scared?" 

"Do you think I care? She's working with Alpha to corrupt the other— oof!" 

When Echo opened her eyes again she was standing in the hallway with Boyd and her prone kidnapper. In the distance she could hear the doctor talking to someone on the phone. Boyd stepped over to the groaning figure on the floor and took her hands in his. 

"Everything's going to be alright." 

Echo looked into his face and knew that statement to be the truth. She didn't have to think hard about her answer. It came to her as naturally as her own name, or the knowledge that a rainbow came after rain. Pressing her ear to his chest, Echo completed the call and response:

"Now that you're here." 


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Langton grimaced as he rubbed his sore knuckles. He didn't regret punching Dominic for a second. The dick had it coming. No one handled a Doll inappropriately on his watch, especially not Echo. The look on Dominic's face was well worth the mountain of paperwork that accompanied an altercation. It was a small price to pay for the satisfaction of knowing the impenitent piece of crap would be sent to cool off on the upper levels of the Rossum tower— very far away from the Dolls. Given a similar situation Langton knew he'd punch Dominic again. 

From his vantage point in the observation room, the ex-cop had a perfect view of his Active and two other Dolls in the pod bay below. Unlike him, the handlers of Tango and Oscar had sprinted to the exit once they knew their Dolls were no longer their responsibility for the night. Langton was beyond annoyed that his shift had been extended by another 48 hours (thanks to Dr Saunders who was conveniently missing), however he couldn't help but feel this was the best way to make sure Echo was safe from others and herself. Lima's handler was sent to get breakfast while Langton took the first watch.

A knock at the door heralded the appearance of Dr Saunders who came bearing gifts of hot chocolate and lounge wear. Langton attempted to refuse the generous offer and found himself on the receiving end of a very nasty expression. Reluctantly, he accepted the gifts.

"If you're looking for a thank you, you won't find it from me."

"Oh, I wouldn't imagine it. Not from someone who has two days of sensitivity training coming his way. It was stupid what you did, fighting the chief of security…" The doctor settled into one of the empty chairs. "It was so worth it though, seeing the surprise on Dominic's face. You don't know how long I've wanted to do that." 

Langton continued the conversation from the corner of the room where he changed. "Yeah? Glad I could be of assistance." He stepped back into view in the new clothes. They were the same color and material as what the Dolls wore on off periods. Admittedly, it was comfortable— a marked improvement from the stiff suit and jacket he'd been wearing all day. However, it was hardly professional to conduct his job duties in glorified pajamas. "Claire, I look ridiculous."

The doctor rolled her eyes. "There's no need to impress me," She produced a document from her clipboard and began filling in the appropriate lines. "Don't think you're special, I gave Thatcher a pair too." Ingrid Thatcher was Lima's handler. She was a level headed woman whom Langton had the pleasure of meeting during orientation. Though their interactions were few, Thatchers reputation as a reliable member of the staff far preceded her. 

Feeling somewhat better, he folded his suit and placed it neatly at the head of the table. "I appreciate the company." 

"If I'm not mistaken, that sounded like a 'thank you'." 

"Hardly. I don't want you thinking I have no manners." 

"Noted. If that wasn't a 'thank you' then you can interpret 'shut up, I'm working' as a 'you're welcome'." 

Langton smiled into his cup of hot chocolate. Perhaps this assignment wasn't so bad after all. 

***

At some point during his watch, Langton had nodded off in a conference chair. He awoke to Thatcher telling him it was time to switch shifts. He mumbled some sort of response and stumbled drunkenly out of the observation room, into the hall. The overhead lights were dimmed, a sure sign that it was nighttime above and below the city. No other Dolls or handlers were about. 

Taking his hand and trailing it along the wall, Langton attempted to locate the showers in his sleep-induced stupor. He took a wrong left somewhere— or maybe it was a right? He didn't know. Either way, he was found by Dr Saunders who was taking a lap of the facility to clear her head. Without a word, she looped his arm around her shoulder and led him the rest of the way. 

"You don't have to stay, you know." He said to the doctor's blurry outline on the other side of the frosted glass. Perhaps she had nothing better to do, or maybe she was lonely; she waited all the same. Whatever. Langton let the hot water wash away his exhaustion and irritation down the drain. 

Claire's silhouette moved to the far end of the communal bathroom where it paused in front of the mirror. A long period passed before she spoke. "Have you ever seen a Doll cry in the House before?" 

"Sorry?" He removed his head from the stream of water to hear better. 

"The Dolls, Boyd, have you seen them cry before?"

"Is this a trick question?"

"No, I'm genuinely asking. When was the last time a Doll cried?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe a week ago? Probably over something dumb like the kitchen running out of pancakes or painting being canceled." 

"You may find this hard to believe, but I keep very detailed records of Dolls and aberrant behavior. The last time a Doll cried was over 3 months ago. Topher assumed full responsibility for the oversight."

"Did you say Topher assumed responsibility for a Doll's tears? Claire, you sound absolutely crazy."

"I'm not crazy. When Dolls enter their baseline state they lose the ability to cry."

"I saw Echo crying after Dominic harassed her. Are you saying those weren't real tears?"

"They were, but it's concerning that she was able to do so." 

Langton scrubbed his ear— perhaps he hadn't heard her correctly. "That's the most outrageous thing you've ever said. Of course Dolls cry. No matter how many times Topher wipes them, they'll always be human." 

"Of course they'll be human, Boyd, don't be asinine. We can't strip Dolls of basic human emotions, but we've come pretty damn close." The doctor ran a hand through her hair. "They have the ability to get scared or stressed, however without an imprint it's almost impossible to cry."

"I find that hard to believe." Langton didn't like the direction this conversation was going. He should have insisted on showering alone. "So what if Echo cries?"

Claire came to stand on the other side of the glass once more. "That's the million dollar question, Boyd. For starters we'll know that the wipe wasn't clean and we'll have to send her back to Topher's lab. If she continues, she runs the risk of triggering emotions and memories she shouldn't have access to." 

"You mean memories from their life outside the Dollhouse?"

"Yes." 

"If that's the case, then all you have to do is wipe her again. It hardly seems like a problem to me." 

"In a perfect scenario we'd have the computer power to wipe defective Dolls, but we're running on generators until the storm passes. Dolls are very sensitive to the emotions of others; if one cries, they all cry. Imagine what it's like if we have them in the general population? We'd risk a house full of lunatics who have half an idea of who they are and why they're here." 

"It sounds like you know more than you're telling me." Langton finished his shower and quickly toweled off. "If you and Topher believe crying Dolls are going to be the downfall of an entire house, why are Thatcher and I the only ones on duty?" 

Claire was waiting for him when he rounded the corner. Gone was her white coat and furrowed brow, all that remained was a very tired woman.

"I like very few people, Boyd. I trust even fewer. I chose the two people who made the cut for both lists." 


End file.
